Tag, You're Dead

by J C Lane

  When that proved too depressing for a Friday night, she tossed it down and went to get a drink. Her phone buzzed, and she grabbed it, already smiling. But it wasn’t Jeremy. Rosie was texting this time, wondering what Laura had decided to wear for homecoming the next weekend.

  I bought a black dress at the thrift store. I’m adding jewels.

  Are you kidding me?

  It’s not that bad & it’s cheap.

  YOU ARE ON THE COURT!!!

  It doesn’t matter what I wear.

  *snort*

  A car door slammed outside, and Laura glanced at the clock, surprised the Wengers were home so early. She gathered her stuff but no one came in. She peeked into the garage. It was dark, and the door was shut. Out the front window she could see her own car, the old Bug her parents let her drive, but there was nobody else. Hearing things, she guessed.

  Jeremy finally called back, and Laura spent a pleasant hour and a half talking to him—texting Rosie and Brie and Amy in between—until the garage door made its grating sound, and the Wengers tiptoed in. Laura offered them a full report, got her money, and walked out to her Bug.

  Seat belt buckled, she turned on the radio and backed out of the drive. She yawned and rubbed her eyes. Bed sounded awfully good after a long week of school. She’d sleep in the next morning, a rare treat.

  She was a couple blocks from the Wengers’ when something cold pressed against the back of her neck.

  “Do exactly as I say,” said a man, “and everything will be fine.”

  Friday, midnight

  Robert

  “It’s too dark.” Robert Haverford Matthews squinted, as if that would help.

  “You can’t see?” His father sat back, crossing one leg over the other. “I can see just fine.”

  A nighttime scene played on the Four Seasons’ widescreen TV. The view focused on a city corner with a pick-up basketball court, lit only by streetlights and surrounding apartments whose windows fronted the concrete pad. Several people, shadows really, darted and spun on the court, one bigger and taller—clearly more talented—than the rest. The sound feed was as sketchy as the image, staticky and garbled.

  “Give it a moment,” the Referee said. “You’ll get more light.”

  “What about the sound?”

  “That, too.”

  A big, black Cadillac pulled around the corner and stopped facing the court, lighting up the game. The tall player made a final move for the basket and dunked the ball, receiving back-slaps from his teammates and the opposing team. He tucked the ball under his arm and turned toward the car. There was plenty of light now. Robert could see every feature of that dark face. And, since the player had been on the skins team, he could picture every hardened chest and abs muscle.

  “Tyrese Broadstreet?” A man in a suit emerged from the car and approached the court. His voice floated loud and clear over the speaker, so Robert was finally satisfied he could see and hear enough to make sure his money—well, his father’s money—had been well-spent.

  “Who’s asking?” One of the smaller players spoke up. The tall one didn’t move. The rest of the street team formed a loose semicircle around him, skin glistening, sweat dripping from their faces.

  “That’s him,” Robert said. “The big one.”

  “I know,” his dad responded.

  “The little one’s Squeak. Never leaves his side. Irritating.”

  “Be quiet,” his father said.

  The man from the car stepped forward, offering something to Squeak. “My name is Logan Roth, associate athletic director at the University of Kentucky.”

  Squeak snatched the business card from the man’s fingers and glanced at it before handing the card to the tall one.The tall guy ignored the card.

  “You’re Tyrese Broadstreet?”

  “You really asking that? You come all the way to talk to me, and don’t know what I look like?”

  “Of course I do. I was being polite. Could I have a few words?”

  “Sure.”

  No one moved. In fact, the players seemed even more rooted to their spots.

  “Would you like to come over here, so I’m not yelling across your…homies?”

  Broadstreet snorted. “Homies? Really?”

  “Please. I’m sorry. Can we just talk?”

  “We are talking. You can keep flapping your lips, or you can split.”

  Some neighborhood girls oozed up the sidewalk and onto the court, staying clear of the Caddy except for one, who used the tinted passenger window to fix her lipstick.

  “Hey, baby.” The one in red sidled up to Tyrese. Her hair lay in straightened plaits, and her scarlet nails stained her fingers like blood.

  Tyrese didn’t touch her. Instead, he jerked his chin. “Get.”

  “Get? You really telling me I should get?”

  “We’re in the middle of something. ’Sides, I told you I was busy tonight.”

  “With what? Some other girl? Or just your precious basketball?” She punched the ball from under his arm, sending it across the court. No one went after it.

  His nostrils flared. “Lanie, just go. Take your friends with you.”

  “But Tyrese—”

  “I said go. Can you not hear me?” He stood over her, his presence dwarfing her like a hungry cat over a determined mouse.

  She straightened her shoulders. “’Course I can. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna listen.”

  One of the girls giggled, but the guys stayed quiet, shifting their eyes between the guy from the car, Broadstreet, and the girl.

  Tyrese took a deep breath. “Lanie, please. I’ll call you later.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  She tilted her head and spun around, talking over her shoulder. “Fine. I’ll go. But you better call.”

  “I’ll call.”

  Her hips swayed as she slithered away, her friends following, each giving Tyrese the evil eye. The girl by the car gave her face one final check and joined the departing group, tottering on high heels.

  When they were gone, the guy from the car smiled. “Guess I’m not so scary after that, am I?”

  Nobody smiled back.

  “What do you want?” Tyrese asked.

  “Like I said, to talk. The coach and the AD sent me with an offer. Thought you might want to go over it.”

  “Coach already gave me an offer. I turned him down.”

  “What’s that idiot doing?” Robert Matthews jumped toward the screen. “He knows Broadstreet got an offer at UK. He should’ve said someplace Broadstreet hasn’t heard from. Someplace big, like Duke, or Ohio State. He’d believe it.”

  “Quiet,” his father said again.

  Robert dropped into his seat and sulked.

  On the screen the man’s mouth tightened, then morphed back into a smile. “This is a new offer. I think you’ll like it. Come on. Just a few minutes. After that, you can get back to your game.”

  “We’re done,” Broadstreet said. “Going home now.”

  “I’ll give you a ride.”

  “It’s a block away.”

  “I’ll give you a ride to a restaurant, grab you something to eat.”

  “My friends, too?”

  The man laughed. “Can’t fit them all in the car.”

  “Don’t go,” Squeak said. “He should meet you at school, or come to your house so your grandma can hear.”

  Tyrese brushed through his line of defense and stopped in front of Roth. The man was tiny, smaller than Squeak, Broadstreet’s self-proclaimed bodyguard. Tyrese was twice as big as the guy standing in front of him, wearing his wire-rimmed glasses and shiny suit. Tyrese could pick him up and throw him across the court, no problem. Or dunk him. He checked out the Cadillac. “Just you in there?”

  “Just me. Take a look.”r />
  Tyrese sauntered to the car, Squeak following. They peered inside. It was empty.

  “Okay,” Tyrese said. “You can take me out to eat.” He swaggered back to the rickety wooden bench alongside the court and pulled on his warm-up pants and T-shirt. He slung his jacket over his shoulder and drained his IU water bottle, tossing it to one of the guys as he walked past. “Hold on to that.”

  “I’m coming, too.” Squeak followed him back to the street.

  “No.” Tyrese opened the door of the Caddy. “I’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Back off, Squeak.”

  Squeak glared at him, jaw set. “Fine. But you call me later.”

  Tyrese slugged his shoulder. “Now you sound like Lanie.”

  Squeak shook his head, smiling a little. Tyrese bumped Squeak’s fist and pointed at the rest of the team before climbing into the Caddy.

  The man from the car grinned at Tyrese’s friends. “It’s been a pleasure. Especially meeting you, Mr. Jackson.”

  Squeak started, and the rest of the team shifted their eyes. Hardly anybody called Squeak by his last name. And nobody put Mister in front of it.

  Roth settled in the car and drove out of the camera’s view. The team, including Squeak, who held out till the last moment, drifted away. The basketball court returned to its state of semi-darkness. The sound cut off.

  The image on the screen changed to a man at a desk in what appeared to be a lawyer’s office, decorated with book-lined shelves and diplomas. The man looked as Robert had expected. Old, gray, expensive. Just like his father’s political ally who’d recommended him.

  “I trust you are pleased?” the Ref said.

  “Don’t know yet,” Robert said. “Where’s the guy taking him?”

  “To the starting point. Get ready.”

  “I am ready. I’ve been ready.”

  “Mr. Matthews,” the Ref said to Robert’s father, “you are also ready?”

  “I am.”

  “You may send the remainder of your bill.”

  Robert’s father pushed some buttons on his laptop, which made a whooshing sound as the money flew away.

  “The Elite package, right?” Robert said.

  His father’s face went stony. “I worked it out with the Referee. This need not concern you.”

  “I understand his interest,” the Ref said. “He wants to be sure he’s getting what he requested. Be assured, young Robert, you will receive everything you paid for, which included the Premium fee, since you are acquainted with your Runner.”

  “Worth every penny.”

  “Of my money,” his father emphasized.

  The Ref tilted his head toward Robert, but met his father’s eyes. “You have explained to your son the consequences should he fail to Tag his Runner before the end of the Game?”

  “I’ll be handed over to the cops,” Robert said. “You’ll give them my contract information and I’ll be charged with conspiracy to commit murder. I get it. But it’s not going to matter. I’m going to win.”

  “Very well.” The Ref glanced at his computer. “I have received your payment. Stay tuned for your instructions, and be ready to Go. I thank you, gentlemen, for your business.”

  The screen went black.

  “I am so ready,” Robert said.

  “You’d better be.” His father eyed him. “Because if you screw this up, you’re paying it all back.”

  Tyrese

  Tyrese sat back in the large seat, enjoying the feel of the leather, and the way his legs could stretch out fully. “Nice ride, man.”

  Roth smirked. “It is.”

  “So where we goin’?”

  “A surprise.”

  Tyrese slid his eyes sideways. “Don’t know if I like surprises.”

  “I understand.”

  Roth drove almost a mile before Tyrese spoke again. “What restaurants are out here? I never come this way to eat.”

  Roth just smiled.

  After another block, Roth eased the car to the curb. Tyrese looked out the window. “There’s nothing here. This block is all boarded up.”

  “Exactly.”

  The rear passenger door opened, and a woman slid inside. As soon as her door closed, Roth accelerated.

  Tyrese felt a twinge of unease. “What’s this? You didn’t say anyone else was coming.”

  Roth raised his eyebrows. “You don’t like women?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  Tyrese considered the question. He wasn’t sure what the problem was, except he was outnumbered and leaving his home turf. He looked at the woman. She wore a tight black sweater and form-fitting jeans, and gazed at him from under long, dark eyelashes. Her skin was lighter than his, but darker than Squeak’s, and her long, dark hair framed her face and red, pouty lips like a painting. Tyrese’s antennae shot up again, although this time it was a more familiar kind of discomfort. Not entirely unwanted. Plus, a woman like that barely counted as a danger. He still outnumbered the people in the car, by size alone.

  “Would you like to move to the backseat?” Roth said.

  Tyrese turned forward again. In control. “You know I can’t accept bribes or payments. Seriously, man. I’m technically not even supposed to let you buy me dinner.”

  Roth laughed. “She’s not a bribe. She’s a woman.”

  Tyrese looked at her again, and she patted the seat.

  “Don’t worry,” Roth said. “She’s not from the street, even though we picked her up out here. She’s class, all the way. I had her wait here so she wouldn’t scare you off or get you in trouble with your girlfriend.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Tyrese wasn’t sure if he should ignore the woman and the suggestion to join her, or go with it. He knew what he wanted to do. What his body was telling him very clearly.

  “Recline your seat, son, and climb right on back. She’s everything you think, and more.”

  Something still felt edgy, but who was Tyrese to say no to a beautiful lady? He wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings. Tyrese crawled over the seat.

  She scooted right next to him, pressing her leg against his, and ran her hand across his shaved head. A musky fragrance wafted over him, and he breathed it in.

  “Hello, Mr. Tyrese Broadstreet,” she cooed. “I’m so glad to finally meet you. I hear you’re going to be a star someday.”

  His eyebrows rose. “I’m already a star.”

  “Oh, yes, baby. But just wait, soon you’re going to be a superstar.”

  Her hands continued to wander across his chest, down his sides, even the length of his leg. When he lifted his hand to enjoy what lay under that sweater, she leveled a gun at his six-pack.

  He swung his eyes up to hers, but saw no more of the sexy expression. Now her face held something feral and frightening. Empty.

  “Hello, Tyrese Broadstreet,” she said again, in a voice more street than bedroom. “Surprise.”

  Tyrese tensed. The gun scared him, but it wasn’t the first gun he’d seen. Not even the first gun to be pointed at him. “What is this?”

  Roth’s voice was soothing. “Soon, Tyrese, soon.”

  “You’re not really from UK, are you?”

  Roth laughed. The woman’s expression remained blank. “I know where Kentucky is,” Roth said. “Does that count?”

  Tyrese should have listened to his inner radar. Should have listened to Squeak. “My grandma doesn’t have any money. She can’t pay a ransom.”

  “We don’t want ransom money.”

  “What, then?”

  “So impatient. Give it time.”

  “You from a rival school, or what?”

  “Not at all. Now be quiet and try
not to aggravate your new friend.”

  Tyrese considered his options. The woman was small, so he should be able to overpower her, get the gun. But what if Roth had a gun, too? What if he crashed the car while they were fighting? At least Tyrese would have a weapon. He was in the back. He could disable the woman, and control Roth with the gun.

  He slid his hand toward his leg. He just needed to get close enough to grab the gun before she could shoot, wrench her wrist sideways, shove her to the floor. No problem. She weighed maybe a hundred pounds. He was pushing two-twenty-five. Keeping eye contact with the woman, relaxing his body, Tyrese moved his hand closer.

  The woman’s eye twitched. She grabbed Tyrese’s left arm, spinning him facedown onto the seat, her knee in his back. The cold metal now pressed against the back of his skull.

  “I wouldn’t underestimate Regina,” Roth said. “She really knows what she’s doing.”

  Sweat broke out on Tyrese’s scalp. He was too shocked and terrified to move, even though he could hardly breathe with his nose smashed against the seat. He opened his mouth and tasted leather. His back cramped. Should he apologize? He didn’t know, but he was afraid to make a sound. He was also afraid not to make a sound. What if he needed to make the next move?

  “Hang tight,” Roth said. “We’re almost there.”

  Where? Tyrese wanted to ask, but he didn’t dare. Regina’s knee was sharp, and the gun pressed unrelentingly against his head.

  “Almost there” apparently meant a state over, because they drove for ages, Regina’s weight and pressure holding him down, the Caddy making no noise in the night.

  Tyrese’s phone chimed, “Yo.”

  “Lanie?” Roth said. “Or Mr. Jackson? Would you like to place a bet?”

  Tyrese stayed silent.

  “If you could grab that, please, Regina,” Roth said.

  Keeping the gun against Tyrese’s head, Regina yanked out his phone, which she had identified in her earlier search. Without looking at it, she handed it to Roth.

  Roth thumbed the phone while he drove. “Ah, it’s the protective Mr. Jackson. Lanie is probably still angry with you, and wants you to come after her. Women are so hard to understand, aren’t they, Tyrese? Except for Regina. We all know what she wants.”